


Time's Wingèd Chariot

by LunaChi_KuroShihone



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Anachronistic, Companions, Depressed Victor Nikiforov, Doctor Who AU, Doctor Who References, Domestic Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Dorks in Love, Eventual Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Gallifrey, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Introspection, Light Angst, Lonely Victor Nikiforov, Love, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Russia, Secret Identity, Sentient TARDIS, Skater Katsuki Yuuri, Soulmates, TARDIS - Freeform, Time Lords and Ladies, Time Travel, UNIT, Victor Nikiforov is Extra, Victor Nikiforov-centric, Yakov Feltsman Is So Done, Young Victor Nikiforov, Yuri Plisetsky Is So Done, allusions to different doctor who episodes, and is called The Victor, soft Victor, sonic pen, time agent Chris, viktor is the doctor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-08-20 08:21:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16552277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaChi_KuroShihone/pseuds/LunaChi_KuroShihone
Summary: “The universe is big. It’s vast and complicated and ridiculous. And sometimes, very rarely, impossible things just happen and we call them miracles.”--Words were whispered, silent and sacred, in the cover of the night.He was their savior, their friend; he helped those in need and those that were lonely and alone, those that had nothing more to loose and those that had everything to.Always helping, never demanding; his name was a whisper on the wind, a promise to those who needed dreams and hope.He was the opressor of the opressing, the savior of the weak; the warrior of many faces, who came if you called — the oncoming storm, the living legend. He was the Victor.Always a different face and different body, but with the same ice-blue eyes for each and every incarnation.--aka Viktor Nikiforov is a Time Lord





	1. But at my back I always hear

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact: this was a drabble-series written on my phone sometime shortly after I watched Yuri on Ice, so the quality may vary  
> Fun fact no. 2: it helped me get over my writers block (somewhat)  
> fun fact no. 3: I literally cannot enter a fandom without first writing a Doctor Who crossover. it's true. Trust me.  
> fun fact no. 4: titles are all from the poem 'To His Coy Mistress'. The one where 'world enough and time' comes from
> 
> also, how the heck did I manage to write 10k worth of drabbles (over nine months, but still)? I can barely manage 500 for my essays...
> 
> ((and I'm sorry for any inaccuracies of Who canon, bc these were literally self-indulgent drabbles. I have no clue about Gallifrey society or Time Lord school))

Words were whispered, silent and sacred, a worship passing between the lips of the people at night.

He was their savior, their friend; he helped those in need and those that were lonely and alone, those that had nothing more to loose and those that had everything to.

Always helping, never demanding; his name was a sacrosanct whisper on the wind, a promise to those who needed dreams and hope.

He was the opressor of the opressing, the savior of the weak; the warrior of many faces, who came if you called — the oncoming storm, the living legend. He was The Victor.

Always a different face and different body, but with the same ice-blue eyes for each and every incarnation.

He was a Time Lord.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

He was a Time Lord on the run, the Victor thought amusedly, swerving left in the hallway while Christophe followed hot on his heels.

“You're mad, Victor!”

“I know!”

They rounded another corner, and Chris was yanked into a panel by his shoulder, and both men fell into a heap in the TARDIS, her doors closing shut. The Victor breathed heavily, grinning at the pinned Time Agent.

“We really-” Chris panted, catching his breath. “We really ought to stop meeting like this, Victor.”

“Why?” Amusement danced in his eyes. “A chance encounter with the Shadow Proclamation not to your tastes?”

The time-shifted man glared up at him. “Sometimes, I hate you.”

The Victor laughed.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

“Oh,” he whispered. “Oh, you're both beautiful. So, so beautiful. What happened to you?” It seemed that he favored dark clothes in this body, his features still alien to him after barely a day in it. His hair was strikingly curly and pale, and he probably liked jam in his tea a little more than what was healthy.

Still. The Victor knelt next to the hissing merpeople, using a small knife to cut them free from their nets. “How did you end up in Italy?”

The female (decidedly calmer, he noted) answered, warily. “We are searching for - our grandmother.” She blinked. “You aren't a human.”

It was a statement.

The Victor grinned wolfishly. “No. I'm the Victor. Alien. Not human at all. Though, rather fond of them.”

Her brother(?) hissed, but the female put a purple-scaled hand over his mouth. “I'm Salatri, this is Mikhel. Thank you for freeing us - we got caught by fishermen and had no time to - well.”

He nodded, pocketing the knife after the last knot was cut, sitting back on his heels, water lapping in front of him. “Well. This is a new me, so I don't know if I'm a good judge of character, but it sounds as if you'd need help finding your grandmother.”

“Sala—”

“Hush.” She glanced at the Victor. “Yes, please. My brother is overtly protective, ignore him.”

“Great! First, you'll need some identities on land, or you'll find yourself caught in more than one fishnet.” the Time Lord grinned. “How about this: Sara and Michele Crispino, from Florence. A beautiful place, very lovely. Very clear water too.”

They shook hands.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

The truth was, when the Victor had still been a child and been called Vede Nasi, he'd already loved humans; unassuming and naive to the cruel world, he'd spend his early childhood with the Nanny and the Teacher, two Time Ladies who'd already visited Earth and her people, soaking up their stories like a sponge.  
They had been one of the main reasons why he wanted to become a Time Lord — visiting different planets and galaxies, helping the people; visiting Earth and meeting homo sapiens and homo reptilia and homo syreni.

Vede enrolled in the Time Academy with outstanding results, becoming one of its best students fast, and then—

Everything was bitter.

And then he'd earned his title, and stole off with the first TARDIS he'd gotten his hands on, and never went back to Gallifrey and his Future, his tail between his legs like a scared dog, and he was running. And running. And running.

From what?

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

The self-proclaimed transtemporal adventuress glanced at the Victor in pity and something close to amusement as she eyed him, fresh off of the Homeworld.

He shook his head, frustrated. “I do not- why do you refuse to be called Lilith, or by—?”

He understood the latter, to some extend; he'd unwillingly undergone an Elective Semantectomy, his True Name erased and only the Victor remaining as anything to be called by, after.

Always, always after.

Iris smiled. “Iris Wildthyme is perfectly fine, kiddo.”

The Victor huffed. She shook her head. “You'll understand it in the future, Viktor, why sometimes losing your name and title feels like the right thing to happen.”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

The very first human Vede Nasi saw was on a trip with the Teacher at the Time Academy, a unassuming thing with chocolate eyes and coal-black hair, gone again in a glimpse so fast that he had to blink and turn to Carabosse.

“Did you see him? The human?!”

His friend shook his head, but the Victor didn't care. He was fascinated even more.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

“You'll do great, Nekola.”

His smile was brittle and chipping at the edges. Not another one, the Victor thought. I don't want to lose another one, even if it's time.

The android beamed at him, tapping the hull of the starship behind him. “I will do you justice, sir.”

“I know you will. Explore the stars, Nekola, and maybe we'll meet again, someday.”

Maybe, when the stars grow old and die. The Victor didn't want to be alone again, not so soon after, but he grit his teeth and smiled. It would be unfair, after all, to deny the android his lifelong wish.

He was a great companion.  
All of them were.

And he was alone again.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

He blinked at the poodle in front of him. She was a native to the Dogworld, and even standing on her hind legs and barely reaching his hips, he felt chastised.

Makka huffed a laugh in all her magenta and purple glory, pointing at him. “Victor,” she chided, and he blinked long, dark lashes. “Victor, Victor, Victor.” She shook her head, gaze softening at his held breath. “Of course I'll come with you, you foolish Time Lord! It was time you asked!”

His expression shifted to joy. “Thank you, Makka! You'll love it, I promise!”

She took a step back, let herself fall on all fours, tail wagging in delight. “I believe you, so you better show me, partner!”

The Victor was about to retort, before her words registered. Partner. He quite liked the sound of that. He hadn't heard it since— well, since.

“Well then; let's go!”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

He'd been spending some time on Earth now; having isolated himself almost completely from everyone and everything on the planet. He didn't feel ready to show his face yet, his departure from Gallifrey still too fresh on his mind. He only hoped —

The Victor only hoped that Carabosse was still all right back on Homeworld.

Still, a man could only isolate himself to such an extend, and he wasn't in a particularly good mood to stay alone with his thoughts today; he left the TARDIS at the edge of the Winter Garden Palace, walking out into the cold Russian snow, aimlessly.

He wandered where his feet took him, past people and markets and windows alike, trying to blend into the crowd. It was futile, though; the renegade got swept along with the masses, and followed them to a massive building at the side of the river, gaze sweeping over the advertisements and billboards.

“Ice skating?” The Victor knew what that was; conceptually. It was a sport throughout enjoyed by humans and races with colder climate, where people would do jumps and spins on bladed shoes. It sounded silly, like so many human inventions, but he had nothing better to do, so he bought himself a ticket and entered, sitting front row.

He listened halfway to the chatter around him, only somewhat paying attention to the ice, until the first skater was called.

“Representing Russia, Yakov Feltsman—”

The world blurred. The announcer might have said more, but the Victor didn't hear it; his gaze was locked on the skater - at young Yakov - flying over the ice in patterns and spins. It was breathtaking. It was fascinating. It was —

it was—

He felt something give, that day, as he watched the junior perform in front of the large crowd, as he watched how seamlessly he flew over the ice and how his skates glided across the surface.

Skating, he decided, felt and looked remarkably like freedom.

•• ━ •●•━ ••

 

It wasn't until two years later that the Victor approached Yakov Feltsman and invited him into the TARDIS.

It probably was the single best decision he ever made, he reflected, as they watched the sun burn through the doors of his ship.

(That day, Yakov Feltsman understood three things:  
one, the world was much more vast and grand than he was led to believe.  
Two, his comrade was as terrifying as he was friendly.  
Three, this was not a place where he belonged, or would ever belong to.)

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Carabosse met the Victor across their timestream a few decades after the latter had left Gallifrey, travelling with two humans across Midnight.

“Yakov Feltsman and Lilia Baranovskaya,” he'd answered over a drink, grinning at Carabosse as if he was divulging a big secret. “They're my comrades; we travel together.”

“That's great for you, old friend,” he'd answered, before breaching the subject both knew was the reason he sought the Victor out. “The High Council wants their star pupil back, Vede. They're willing to withdraw your punishment if you go back to Homeworld.”

The Victor scoffed. “Pah, going back! I left for a reason, Carabosse; that reason was to not be a plaything to the council anymore! I'd rather die than go back.”

“Vede-”

The Victor slammed his drink down. “You've changed for the worse, Carabosse. I hope that one day you'll see that what the council does is wrong!”

Carabosse shook his head. “Vede-”

“Then I'm sorry as well, comrade. May we next see each other under friendlier circumstances.”

He'd have left at that, but one last gaze from kept him from doing so. “What are they?” the 'to you' went unasaid as Carabosse asked softly, glancing over to the bickering pair of humans.

“Lilia's a danseur for an important ballet company, and Yakov's a skater. They're good people.” He evaded it.

  
•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

“I'm not even sure about — any of this!” Mila screeched. “Victor, none of this makes even remotely any sense!”

The Victor laughed. It was loud and heartfelt. The young woman glared at him. “I mean it! What is going on! First I disappear from my graduation and reappear in your spaceship-”

“-TARDIS-”

“-your Tardis, whatever, and now we're stuck with these… things!”

The Victor grinned. “These are Adipose cells, and we're about to find out what is creating them! Exciting, isn't it?”

Mila blanched. “No! I've known you for less than two hours, no this isn't exciting!”

He glanced slyly at her. “Not even a little?”

She paused. Blinked. Stared at the baby fat cells they'd picked up. “Well. A little.”

(She didn't take him up on his offer to travel with him, that fist time. It was all too confusing and great and scary to even think about it; she had friends and family at home. But the second time, she did. She had nothing to lose anymore.)

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

The Victor glared warily at the Daleks surrounding him and Nikolay. They were trapped in the Asylum, with only the mysterious Eros being able to operate the rigged doors.

It was quite handy, to tell the truth. The door to their right opened, and both men ran for it, the Victor's sonic pen sealing it shut behind them. Eros had led them to the emergency escape room — they could finally make their way back to the TARDIS.

“What can I say,” his voice echoed. “I majored in techno-science. It's come in handy.”

Nikolay shook his head. “This is crazy — Victor, let's get out of here!”

He smiled at his companion. “You wait here with the pod, Kolya. I'm getting Eros out.”

•• ━ •●•━ ••

“I-I'm sorry, Eros.”

The Time Lord was leaning against the door, slumped and hunched over in defeat. “There's nothing I could do.”

Eros' -well, the Daleks' voice- was strangely calm, despite the situation. “It's all right, really, Viktor.”

“You can't leave this place.” It was a small whimper; they'd talked so much over these past few hours, and the Victor would be lying through his teeth if he didn't admit to have been looking forward to travelling with the soft-spoken artisan.

“I can't, but you have to.” Eros' voice had turned firm, and the door separating them rattled from the unexpected bang it had received. The Victor jumped up, alert.

“What are you…?”

“I'm going to blow up this place, Viktor, so you have to leave.”

“But— that means!”

“I know,” the tone was soft, gentle; a sound unlike any other Dalek. “And it's all right. I'm fine with it, believe me.”

He wavered, and the Victor stood up straighter. “Yes?”

“My name— it's Yuuri Akatsuki.”

The Victor exhaled softly. Yuuri.

•• ━ •●•━ ••

“I can't do this anymore, Victor.” Nikolay sounded pained. “I have brushed death to many times to count by now, my family is worried for me and I have a duty to my city! I can't go and fool around in the universe anymore.”

His eyes softened. “I'm not as young anymore.”

The Victor simply smiled. His smile was brittle and chipping at the edges. Ah, here it is.

“Alright, Kolya. No really— I understand.”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Makka had died of old age, her hand clasped in his as she lay in her bed, her magenta and purple coat almost silver. “You were the greatest partner a dog could have ever wanted, Victor.”

Tears were threatening to fall out of his eyes, but he blinked them away. “Makka, don't-”

“Such a lonely creature, my Time Lord is.” She smiled at him. “I'm an old dog, but I've had a fulfilling life. And believe me when I say-” her hands surged forward; every last ounce of strength remaining being used to grip his face, “-we WILL meet again, Victor. I believe in this as strongly as I do in the Old Beliefs. We'll meet again, in my future.” Her eyes glittered. “Maybe we wont recognize each other, but our hearts will do.”

He choked back a sob.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

This was how Vede Nasi earned his title: as a final exam the students had to restore the timeline in any given event on any planet whatsoever — the final exam of their righteousness, before Rassilion gave them their new ranks.

Carabosse, as their other yearmates, had gotten something easy; there were discrepancies across the timespan of a catskin moon - nothing too complicated, only a series of events that had to be followed and nudged into the right direction with the help of an as-of-yet unbounded TARDIS.  
He did brilliantly.

Vede Nasi hadn't had such luck. Something must've had happened, because he and his given TARDIS were stuck on a class three without any possible way out for the next decade or so. That wouldn't have been so bad, had it not been for the Cyberman that were staging an invasion - and the cause of the disturbance, which meant he had to get rid of them if he'd wanted to leave.

For the Victor, it would have been easy to take care of the problem — Vede Nasi, still in training and having never seen such a gruesome war up close, was terrified. But he endured. Instead of staying in his TARDIS until the main fleet arrived, he helped the people of the class three as much as he could, sweating and fighting and bleeding with them.

The war had gone on for two hundred years, and he'd been present in every one of them with his assigned squadron; his brothers-in-arms.

It was the last year of the battle that he'd earned his title in, when he'd run after the Cyberman commander and left his Left Hand behind on the outskirts of the central. The man had outstanding faith in Vede, and proclaimed him the victor of the war once they'd found each other again, after his first violent regeneration into a new face.

He had been in the Left Hand's lap and fighting with his consciousness, when those brown eyes smiled down at him and a hand patted his hair. “You're our victory bringer.”

“I'm not-” he'd rasped.

“You are. You will be lauded as the victor of this war by us, for a long time to come. Even when you'll be gone, that will still be whispered amongst my people. The victor of the war who brought us glory and fought and bled with us. This is the kind of man you'll be.”

Vede had sunken into unconsciousness after, and had never seen his Left Hand or his squadron again, but the soft-spoken man's words had stayed with him even as he and the TARDIS were brought back to the Academy. The Teacher fussed over him, apologizing.

He'd simply swallowed the bitter taste in his still-too-new mouth and croaked out: “I want to be called the Victor from now on.”

She took in his gaintly features and hard eyes, and didn't say anything as she nodded. “The Victor, then.”

“As a reminder,” he'd whispered, and from that day onwards he wasn't Vede Nasi anymore.

•• ━ •●•━ ••

Not even three weeks after graduating from the academy, he'd taken the TARDIS that had been assigned to him and fled Homeworld.

Two days after, his True Name had been semanectomed.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Lilia Baranovskaya was a star pupil at the Marinskii - Yakov had been talking about her almost non stop ever since he'd set foot in the TARDIS.

“She is beautiful, Victor,” he sighed. “A prima like no other.”

Yakov was twenty two now, and he'd been going on adventures with the Victor sporadically throughout his off-seasons. The Victor grinned and pushed his curly hair back - he'd really ought to do something about it soon. “I see.”

“When did you… you called it regenerating? When did you regenerate anyway?” The Russian skater ambled over to the monitor, his tone feigning disinterest. Yakov had only heard about this strange ability of his comrade, so it had been disconcerting to see a familiar pair of eyes on a different face.

“Ah-” the Victor scratched his neck in embarrassment, leaning next to a particular lever. “I had a run-in with a Game Station and the heart of the TARDIS; I had to save Christophe somehow.”

Yakov hadn't a clue what all of it meant, but he simply nodded. “And what happened after? You haven't shown your face for a whole year.”

“I met a pair of merpeople in Victorian London and helped them establish a new colony on land.”

Yakov blinked. “So there's mermaids around now?”

“Homo sireny, but yes.”

The skater shook his head. “You're impossible, Victor.”

“I'm no—”

“Yakov Michailovich Feltsman! What is this!?!”

Both turned sharply at the shrill voice, and Yakov winced and took a step back involuntarily; the woman who was gawking at the inside of the TARDIS glared at him. “You dissapeared without a trace after your practice, so your coach sent me to fetch you, but-”

Lilia Baranovskaya glared daggers at the Victor. “Who are you?”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Christophe had been left on the steps of the 51th century, groaning in dissatisfaction.  
He was unable to die.

The exposure to the heart of the TARDIS had rendered him immortal, and the Victor had left him without any means of contact.

“What do I do now?” Meeting the renegade Time Lord was something the Swiss felt would be impossible from now on: the time machine had rejected him, as he'd felt her presence receding from the back of his mind, and she'd left him at the steps of his workplace.

“Shit.”

“What's going on, agent Giacometti?”

Chris blinked and turned around. “Ah, Yuuri, hello.” The Asian man was a colleague of his, from the science division. A brilliant mind, really; if a bit shy. Christophe gave a wry laugh. “I don't know how to find him.”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow. “That mysterious Victor of yours?”

“Yes. My former means to do so have… vanished into nothing.”

“Hm.” He tapped the edge of his spectacles, turning the diagnostic scan on. “Do you know when he is?”

“Victor's pretty fond of the nineteenth to twenty first centuries.” He blinked. “Why, Yuuri, what are you thinking about?” Amping up the charm never worked on the other man, but it was worth it to see his blush.

“Well,” he adjusted his glasses. “We'll have to see, won't we?”

•• ━ •●•━ ••

“Why are you helping me? You could get fired, Yuuri.” For once, Chris was solemn as he stared at the Vortex Manipulator in front of him.

“It'll get you roughly to the right time, you'll have to wait for the Victor to show up though. It's a one-way ticket, since manipulating the tinestream for such a long distance is bad.”

“Yuuri-”

“And you'll need money and provisions,” he patted a backpack, “and there's some books inside too, in case you'll get bored, and—”

“Yuuri-”

Yuuri blinked. “Yes, Chris.”

The agent shook his head slightly. “Why are you helping me.”

The scientist smiled while Chris took the items and slung the strap over his shoulder and fastened the Manipulator on his arm, holding it over so the other man could calibrate it. “I think- it's important for you to meet the Victor again, in the past. Something will happen, so you have to keep him safe until the danger is over.”

“What?!”  
Mon dieu, the blonde thought. “How do you know that?”

“But that's the thing-” Yuuri laughed, activating the Manipulator. “I don't. It's a feeling, that's all.”

He took a step back, a small grin finding its way onto his face as Chris started disappearing. “Watch out for the turn of the 21th Century! Maybe learn some ice skating too, while you're at it, agent Giacometti!”

“Why would I want to— Yuuri, you little-”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Once, the Victor had pulled a stunt as a hockey player for a few years on Earth, before deciding that no matter how much he liked the ice and the cold, or how good he actually was at hockey, he preferred Yakov's figure skating to the brutish force of the hockey players.

Lilia shook her head as he told her, chin held high, something unidentifiable in her eyes. His comrades were growing older with the passage of time, and he saw the tell-tale sign of resignation creeping into their features, no matter how much he tried to stretch their adventures and the years they spend together.

It would hurt to lose his very first ones.

“What did you call yourself, anyway, Victor?”

“Oh.” He blinked, a grin stretching across his features. “Victor Nikiforov. Has a nice ring to it, no? Nikiforov, like the greek goddess of victory, Nike.”

There was an unimpressed pause as Lilia took the words in. “You are truly unbearable, you know that?” She shook her head.

He grinned at her.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

The Victor winced, hunching into himself as Carabosse placed a tentative hand on his shoulder.

“I'm so sorry, Vede,” the other Time Lord murmured. Carabosse was on his second and the Victor on his fourth, and this was not a meeting either of them had expected to happen quite so soon.

“So you're dragging me back, then. Jolly.”

Carabosse flinched. “I have to - the Council - the Council wants it.”

“At least your blind faith has been broken.”

“No- well, yes, but. But!” Carabosse grit his teeth and glanced around, the Victor following his gaze listlessly. “The Sisterhood of Karn warned me, that there is only one person who I should trust with this, and—” he stopped, taking a breath. “That person is and always had been you, Vede.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“Rassilion wants war against the Daleks again, but the Sisterhood had warned me that should we blindly follow, we'll have to pay the price for it.”

The Victor sucked in a breath. “What?!”

“This is why,” Carabosse turned back to him and their eyes met, firm. “This is why I need your help in preventing it - even if we'll be expelled or hunted down for it, preventing this Time is more important than you or me, Vede.”

“Well. I have nothing more to loose, unlike you. Are you sure that you want to help?” His brows were furrowed in concentration, uncertainty tugging at them.

“Obviously, Vede.” Carabosse crossed his arms. “You need comrades, don't you? Travelling alone doesn't suit you at all. When was the last time someome accompanied you?”

The Victor thought back to all of the people he helped; a frighteningly large number that would still grow over time. The android from the Titanic came to mind - Emil Nekola - but they'd parted ways after the Victor took him to a scrapyard for ships, not even a full days' travel in the TARDIS away. Before him had been-

Makka. From the Dogworld. Makka, who stayed with him all of her glorious eighty seven years. Makka, who was family like Yakov and Lilia had been before her, so many years ago. Like the others had tried, but failed to be - either because he pushed them away or because they had to leave.  
Makka, who was his longest.

“It's… been a long time…”

“I thought so. You need me, Vede. For old time's sake?”

The Victor quirked a brow, a shaky sigh escaping him. “For old time's sake, then.”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

He'd left brilliant Mila behind in Victorian England, after having seen how close she had grown to Salatri.  
Sara.  
The mermaid.

They were a good pair, and obviously happy, if their brilliant smiles were anything to go by.

“Thank you, Victor.” Mila had breathed, weaving their fingers together. He offered a simple smile and a nod in the direction of their new home. “Watch out for each other and Mickey.”

“We will.”

“Yes,” Sara nodded. “Are you sure though, that you don't want to stay for a while? Paternoster row will always have its doors open for you.”

His smile softened. “I'll take you up on that in the future, but not right now. I have places to be.”

“Of course you have,” Mila whispered, smile sad and knowing. He didn't; not really. But he was always running, running, running, and he never once seemed to stop.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

“I know how this might sound, Victor,” Yakov started - they'd been circling around the Time Vortex for a few days now, to visit the past and the future and the present however they wanted.

Lilia was somewhere in the lower deck, probably the ballet studio, furiously working on a new routine.

She had a play in a few days, back in Moscow. Very important too, she'd said.

The Victor leaned over the railing of the console room to his comrade. “Yes?”

“You still have some plans for the next few days, don't you?”

“I do - New York and the planet Barcelona and the colony of homo reptilia in minus five-oh-six. With one or more stops between. Not necessarily in that order. Why, Yakov?”

Yakov took a deep breath. “Let's end this, Victor. Lilia is auditioning for the role of prima in the Bolshoi Ballet - her dream. After she gets the role, well. Her career will skyrocket immensely, and I plan on - I plan on asking for her hand in marriage afterwards, soon. And I worry for her safety.”

The Victor was silent.

Yakov continued, melancholy creeping into his voice. “You can't guarantee her safety anymore than you can guarantee ours, and I don't want her career to end because of an injury like mine did.”

“I see.” his voice was soft. “And you probably don't want me to tell her any of this, do you, Yakov?”

The skater swallowed. “No. I plan on going into coaching soon, and the proposal is supposed to be a secret.”

“Like the quad flip on Verizon?” The Victor's voice held no humor in it. Yakov was the first ever human to land it in the twentieth century, and no one will know because it was on an alien planet made of ice with lighter gravity than Earth that had made it possible.

“Very well, Yakov; I shall think of something. Don't you worry.”

•• ━ •●•━ ••

In the end, they never went to Barcelona after all, and the Victor quietly left them at Lilia's doorstep a day before her rehearsal, with Yakov giving him grateful glances.

It would be the last he'd see of his first and most memorable comrades until almost twenty years into their human future.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

The Victor glanced at Carabosse, his bruised and battered form, and he let his gaze sweep across the expanse of the Homeworld.

So, this was to be their end.

It was ironic, really; he'd die saving that which he'd fled from.

“Time Lord Carabosse and Time Lord Vede Nasi,” Rassilion spoke. “You have given me quite some trouble, it seems.”

Murmurs could be heard by the gathered, some in protest and some in agreement.

“But-” a hand silenced the chatter, “-but you've also saved Gallifrey from a devasting loss.”

You could hear a needle drop in the resounding silence. The Victor blinked, amazed. Carabosse looked equally surprised. “…does that mean you forgive us?”

That would be a first in history; renegades and war deserters being pardoned.

“By Time and Space, no!” Rassilion barked a laugh. It was high-pitched and slightly manic. “You'll both be sentenced to some Earth-years of exile withouth your TARDISes, and won't be able to set foot within a mile of Gallifrey for a good thousand after that. But we won't erase your existence, at least, no?”

Carabosse swallowed. “Uh-”

“The question was rhetoric, boy.” Rassilion took a step back, and with flourish, gestured behind him. “Your sentences will be as follows: Carabosse, formerly of the Patrexes Chapter - due to your long-standing loyalty to Homeworld, you will be exiled to Earth for community service for the next twenty years.”

He turned to the Victor. “You, however: the Victor, formerly of the Patrexes Chapter. You have stolen a TARDIS mere days after your inauguration into the circle of the Time Lord's, and have not once since sought repentance. You will also go to Earth, but you will be parading it as a human.”

“What?!”

“Be glad I'm not including a Chameleon Arch in this; a simple rewrite of your bio-chemistry with a damper and blocker should do it, to simulate and go through the human aging process. Your hormones might be affected as well. It's going to be an all-biological and chemical compounds, so it will wear off in, hm, roughly twenty years - your sentence time is the same.” He shrugged. “Until then, contact with Gallifrey is forbidden.”

“Wait, what-!”

“Obviously, it'll be activated by a forced regeneration, but. You know how it is.” He held up his hands in a placating manner, and the Victor seethed.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

A child no older than seven or eight stood alone in the snow-covered fields of Moscow.

“I'm sorry, Carabosse.” It was a whisper, the Victor staring bitterly in front of himself. The council hadn't even had the good graces to send them into exile together — Carabosse was somewhere in probably another fucking country, and he was in the body of a small kid. Was a small kid again. Whatever. The bio-dampener was frighteningly good.

It's not like he'd actually recognize Carabosse, since both were on new regenerations.

What should he do?

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

“Open the door, will you?” Lilia called from the kitchen. Yakov scoffed. “Yes!”

He walked to the entrance, grumbling all the while about students and rent and new facilities in St. Petersburg - they were on the cusp of moving out of their Moscow home and back to his birthplace, since he was taking over the rink as head coach. It was an arrangement that suited both fine, after years of working in Moscow.

The doorbell rang again.

“Yes, yes; I'm here! Dmitry, if it is about moving, then my answer is still—”

There was a child standing on his doorstep. Small, fragile, with the most electrifying blue eyes Yakov had ever seen. They were unnerving, in fact.

The child bowed. “I'm- I'm so sorry, Yakov. I didn't know where else to go—”

Yakov blinked as the child grew silent, his eyes downcast. “Do I know you?”

He wasn't a tactile man, and he was even worse with children, so he stood there, uncertainly hovering.

The kid sniffed. “You don't - of course you don't, I'm an idiot. So sorry for bothering you, I'll leave immediately—”

He was rambling. There was a small kid in his door, talking to him as if they know each other, and he was rambling. Yakov's eyes widened and he took a startled step back. “Victor?”

The kid gave him a wobbly, heart-shaped smile.

•• ━ •●•━ ••

“This is Viktor Nikiforov, your new rinkmate. Be nice to him, you hear?”

Coach's gruff voice echoed in the rink, as Alexei, Ludmilla and Vasilev blinked at the seven-year-old-kid, who looked as miserable as a wet dog, if his hunched shoulders were anything to go by. Their coach still had a comforting hand on his small shoulder as he continued. “Since you're the oldest, Vasilev, your going to act as his guide for the next few days.”

Vasilev was sixteen. All three blinked. Again. “Yes, coach Feltsman.”

“Good.”

And then their coach had crouched down, still uncertain, and whispered something into the new kids ears, stood up, and left.

Viktor smiled a wobbly smile at then, and Ludmilla returned it.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

 

 •• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

•• ━━━ ••●•• ━━━ ••

•• ━ •●•━ ••

 


	2. Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near

Viktor Nikiforov turned out to be a phenomenon of the ages; a young skating prodigy related to and named after one-time hokey wonder Victor Nikiforov. His close relatives were all estranged or dead, so his skating coach, Yakov Feltsman, took the small child in and raised him with his wife.

That was the story sold to the world, and the people lapped it up, hungry for more. He never finished highschool, deigning to focus on skating, and soon climbed up the ranks of the national and international skating world until he stood at the top of the podium in the 2010 Winter Olympics, and stayed there for the next five years, creating an as-of-yet unseen winning streak, the only contender for his title being his rival Christophe Giacometti, who suddenly appeared with nineteen in the Swiss Nationals, having never competed before.

Viktor won medal after medal and had sponsorships thrown his way and would smile and smile and wave for the audience, before disappearing in his hotel room and gritting his teeth as Chris watched him.

“Don't get me wrong, Vitya,” he said, “but I can't keep this up for much longer -- I have to go back to Torchwood soon, or people will notice that I haven't aged since I was 'nineteen'.”

The Victor chocked back an ugly sob. “So you're leaving too, after all this time?”

Yakov and Lilia were in the middle of an ugly divorce that season that had left him high-strung and guilty, because he knew that he was probably the reason for their fight; Lilia hadn't taken it well when he'd appeared on their doorstep, and while she's never said anything, he knew that she had longed for the TARDIS as much as he does. Not that it mattered, considering he was landlocked.

Chris frowned. “I still have a year or two in me, but skating is not a sport that was made to last, and you know it.” He turned. “Why did you choose skating anyway? Because of Yakov?”

“No. Yes. Maybe.” The Victor hunched over. “Skating felt like freedom, once.”

Green eyes softened. “Oh Vitya, you aren't made to stand still for so long.”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

(Here is how Yuuri Katsuki met Phichit Chulanont: he'd just arrived in Detroit, skates in hand, ready to meet his new coach, when a kid suddenly plastered himself to his side. “Hello, you're Yuuri Katsooki, right?? I'm Phichit, and I'm your new rinkmate!”

Needless to say, they became friends over the following year.)

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

When the Victor first saw Yuuri, the Japanese skater had come in last at the GPF and was skulking around with a glass of champagne. Then Yuuri had challenges Plisetsky to a dance-off, and Chris to a pole dance, and then Viktor had his turn. It was the most fun he's had in five years, and the way Yuuri danced and laughed reminded him of something that was clawing at the back of his head.

Four months and another World gold later, as Viktor watched Yuuri skate to no music on his phone with Makkachin draped across his chest, he remembered: it looked and felt remarkably like freedom.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Minako Okukawa squinted her eyes together, brows furrowing as she watched Viktor and Yuuri interact.

Something had changed, in the two weeks after Yuri left, and it was an almost tangible force -- Yuuri seemed much more relaxed and carefree, smiling almost indulgently at Viktor's antics, and Minako felt herself replicating it. With a sigh, she called the Russian athlete over, rapping her finger against the glass in front of her.

They'd just come back from the beach, hair still wet, but Viktor heard her and pried himself off of Yuuri.

“Listen here, Viktor,” she'd started. “I don't know what you're playing at, staying in one place for so long - heaven knows you've never told me - but if you break Yuuri's heart, I will break yours. Both.”

Viktor blinked, stunned, mouth hanging open. “What?”

Minako grinned. “It's not the same face, so it took me a while, but I'd recognize those eyes anywhere. Manhattan in the fifties, with Tallulah with three 'l's.”

The Time Lord blinked again. “What!?”

“It won't happen to you yet, so spoilers, but let's just say that you and someone else will pick up twenty-year-old me in New York. In your future.”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Viktor was so used to playing human and wearing masks in public that it became an ingrained habit of his, to play human; to play dumb. He did it at first with Yuuri, too, until their day at the beach, when Yuuri told him to simply be 'Viktor', no strings attached.

Viktor shuddered. They were curled up in the living room, watching some odd Japanese cartoon that he could follow halfway, missing his mental link to his TARDIS feverishly, when the other skater leaned over and softly took his hand in his.

Well. That was certainly new.

“What's wrong, Viktor?”

Viktor shuddered again. He still felt so unmoored in this regeneration, so alien. “I don't think I know who Viktor is, anymore.”

Maybe he never knew; as far as he was concerned, Viktor Nikiforov was a human he'd invented from scratch to hide away for twenty years, until his mental link with the TARDIS was back and he could find her, and maybe find Carabosse, and then leave.

Did he even deserve someone like Yuuri?

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

The thing was, as Viktor found out over the course of the summer, that he liked being Yuuri's Viktor. He liked the normalcy and anonymity Hasetsu provided, and he liked how Hiroko doted over him and how Toshiya would invite him for drinks, and how Mari put him to work around the onsen. He liked how Minako didn't treat him any different than before, or how he and Chris would FaceTime in the mornings.

Most of all, he liked Yuuri.

He liked how Yuuri seemed attentive, he liked how Yuuri would listen when they sat in the hot springs in the evening, and Viktor would show him constellations and planets and talk. He liked how Yuuri was without judgement as Viktor slowly found his center again, after five years or more of losing himself. How Yuuri held him at nights, when the nightmares were too much.

Viktor liked it, too.

Viktor found out that he liked being Viktor Nikiforov for the first time more than he liked being the Victor, because being Viktor Nikiforov (or the more recent and tentative Vitya) meant he could grow old with Yuuri and could stay with Yuuri until they died.

He liked not having so many responsibilities for once, simply relishing in their relationship.

He loved seeing Yuuri win silver at the Grand Prix, loved seeing Yura win gold, and his hearts felt light every time he gazed at the ring on his finger; their promise shining golden.

For the first time in a long while, Viktor truly felt free, grinning as he announced his return to skating in the middle of the season, overcome with joy and love.

And in the middle of settling into Saint Petersburg, after their Nationals and a birthday in Hasetsu, shortly before the Russian Christmas, Viktor was talking in broken Japanese to the owner of the Asian takeout about food while he waited for his and Yuuri's takeout, when he'd suddenly understood her perfectly.

He flinched, taken aback.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, thank you,” he'd said, and fleed the place.  
  
The hum of the TARDIS was quiet but present in the back of his skull, inquisitive.

And Viktor felt his world crash around him.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

The TARDIS was calling, calling, calling; broadcasting her location to Viktor like a broadband connection, and he felt shame burning at the back of his skull while he ignored it, lips pressing together.

He wanted more time.

“Vitya?” Yuuri's voice was soft, prodding, as the human touched his shoulder feather-light. “What's wrong?”

Viktor smiled, thin and wobbly. “An old family friend called yesterday, and I don't know…” he exhaled. “And I don't know what I should do.”

Suppressing the TARDIS' mental translator, trying to keep everything how it was -- it was getting harder the more time went on. Viktor knew that it was only a matter of a few more months, before the signal was picked up by a non-native species.

He shuddered, relishing the silent comfort Yuuri gave him.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Carabosse and him were sitting in a cafe the day after Europeans, talking. He looked different from his last regeneration, sharper features and styled hair, his UNIT communicator hidden in his coat.

“I go by Georgi Popovich nowadays,” Carabosse said, inclining his head. It was strange to know that, while Viktor wasted away as a child and had to go through growth and development for him to reach his current looks, the other Time Lord had looked the same for the twenty years they'd been separated.

“You look good …Zhora.”

Carabosse smiled, a grin stretching across his features. “You always liked the Russians, didn't you?”

Viktor shrugged, nonplussed. “I am fond of them, yes. And we look like Russian men.”

“The most Russian any Russian looks!”

They grinned, their easy companionship falling back into place, before the other Time Lord's eyes wandered down to his hand, staying on the ring. “Marriage suits you, Vede.”

Viktor blushed. “We aren't yet -- not yet, no.”

“I know, but it still suits you.” Silence lingered, before Carabosse sighed and leaned back. “You know that our sentence is over, yes?”

“Yes.”

“And you know that your TARDIS has been calling you? She's somewhere in Russia, by the way. Unit's been keeping tabs on her.”

“Yes.”

“Then why aren't you going after her?”

Viktor flinched. “…I…”

“Oh Vede,” his expression turned soft. “Unit's been doing their best to protect Earth in your absence, and I've been helping them with it as much as a Time and landlocked Time Lord can, but between the two of us, you're the one with experience.

Earth needs it's victor.”

They stayed silent, Viktor not meeting Carabosse's eyes.

“You really love your human, don't you?”

“My Yuuri, yes. He is -- life and love to me. Let me live like this for a little longer, please.”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

“I can't believe this is Chris' last season!” Yuuri blinked, turning to the Swiss man. “Why would you keep it from us!”

Christophe smiled beatifically. “Because it was supposed to be a secret, Yuuri.”

Yuuri flinched. “Sorry.”

Phichit and Viktor were sitting next to them, two days before Worlds, and Viktor had a pained expression on his face. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be, cherí, we've gone over this a thousand times already. It wasn't your fault. Not all of us can be Viktor Nikiforov.”

The Japanese skater took in their shifty looks and glances, and frowned. Viktor had been acting strange ever since January, and his jumpiness increased potentially with the approach of Worlds. He also didn't seem surprised by Chris' retirement plans, so it was easy to assume that the other skater had told him already, and Viktor was acting strange because if it, but Yuuri didn't believe it.

Phichit frowned as well, but refrained from commenting anything. Instead, he leaned into Yuuri's side, phone at the ready. “Then how about a pre-competition selfie? For the fans!”

Chris laughed, nodding.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Isabella had accompanied JJ to Four Continents, happy to cheer her fiance on, when she'd felt eyes boring into her back. She had turned around that time, hands inching close to her belt, but the only person who had been looking her way had been Nikiforov, who had turned his attention from the skating Yuuri to her.

Isabella felt shivers go down her back. His eyes had always unnerved her.

At that time, she had been unable to place the shivers running down her spine, but now weeks later at Worlds, she knew.

Nikiforov had cornered her in the hotel well into the night, where both JJ and presumably Yuuri were already sleeping.

Nikiforov was leaning against the wall, hands crossed in front of him. “You're a Racnosse, no?”

Isabella blinked, hands flinching to her belt. When the Russian didn't so much as move a muscle, she sighed, pressing down on the perception filter. “Well?” the Racnosse said.

Nikiforov was the one to blink, incredulously, hands falling to his side. “This was… easier than I anticipated, I'll admit.”

Isabella shrugged. “You didn't seem like you'd hurt me, so I figured this was faster and less painful.” Her legs tapped the ground. “How did you know?”

“Ah- your filter flimmered.” He tapped the corner of his eyes, and she snorted. “Figures.”

Nikiforov continued. “You don't strike me as dangerous, but I'll still ask what your intentions are, da?”

“My intentions? Right now, watching JJ win Four Continents, and maybe get married in the summer.” She tsked. “I'm completely uninterested in anything political from Homeworld, trust me. I've had enough of it for a lifetime.”

Nikiforov -- no, Viktor chuckled. “I know the feeling.”

A moment passed, and the Russian's shoulders sagged in relief, and Isabella followed suit. “I'm really glad, actually. I've got nothing with me in case of an invasion, so this is nice.”

“Ah,” Isabella awknowledged. She tapped the perception filter again, eyeing the skater. He looked tired, all of a sudden.

“Does… Jean-Jaques know?”

She hummed. “Yes, I've told him.”

“Mhm, and… how does he feel about it?” His voice was small, broken, and Isabella's heart went out to him. “I felt like this, too. It took some explaining, and JJ was scared -- he's got arachnophobia -- but in the end… I guess love won out, no matter how cheesy it sounds.”

She eyed the skater, remembering with a start that he was supposed to skate tomorrow as well as coach, and smiled softly. “You really love Yuuri, don't you? Then you should tell him, and I'm sure he'll understand.” She paused, unsure, before she put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “If you don't mind me asking, what are you?”

He exhaled silently, taking her hand and putting it on his ribcage, holding it there so she could feel the erratic beating of his heart.

No.

Hearts.

“This is the fifth face I'm wearing already.”

“You're a Gallifreyan?”

He nodded. “Time Lord, actually. I was exiled to Earth for twenty years, and the sentence ended in January. My biology has gone haywire and only recalibrated recently.”

Isabella moved her hand back to his shoulder, squeezing it softly. Such a long-lived species.

“Tell him, Viktor.”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Yuri Plisetsky was a hellfire kitten and a great skater, often crashing in their guestroom after practice, somehow worming himself into Viktor's life. His immediate family was a mother and father that were traveling, and a grandfather in Moscow Yuri skated Agape for, but Viktor had never met the man before, other than glimpses at competitions in Russia.

Nikolai sounded like a great person, if Yuri's recounts were anything to go by, and he invited Viktor and Yuuri over for a visit to celebrate their shared podium at Worlds, a week after they started the off-season.

Yuri was confused, but Yuuri felt honored that the old man considered them friends if not family, and so they agreed to accompany a grinning Yura to Moscow, to Viktor's first official meeting with Nikolai Plisetsky.

The hum of the TARDIS was getting stronger the souther they went, but Viktor ignored it steadfast, concentrating on the soft hum of Yuuri's sleeping form.

“I really don't know why dedushka wants you over, old man. The Katsudon I understand, but you?” But the kitten was smiling, his edges softening more and more as they neared their destination, so Viktor only smiled.

•• ━•●•━ ••

As soon as the train came to a stop, Yuri rushed off to tackle-hug his grandfather, only relenting as he dragged the Russian over to the other two. He was grinning as he pushed his grandfather over to Yuuri first, and his fiance smiled bashfully before he shook the older man's hand. Viktor's heart melted at the sight.

The second he really laid eyes on the old man, Viktor's breath hitched and he froze. “K-Kolya?”

Nikolai Plisetsky -- Nikolay Alexeyev to him, some odd regenerations ago -- tipped his hat at Viktor, boasting a magnificent grin as the years melted from his form. “Hello, Victor.”

Viktor was still frozen as Nikolai threw an arm around his shoulder, barely hearing the swallowed growl from Yuri and questioning sound Yuuri made, eyes wide. “I have something of yours.”

•• ━•●•━ ••

Yuri and Yuuri were at the convenience store, having run out on an errand by the elder Plisetsky, leaving Viktor alone with Kolya for the first time since they met at the station.

“We got about half an hour until Yurotchka drags your Yuuri back from Auchan.” He opened a cabinet and poured them some vodka, sliding one of the glasses over to Viktor, who took it with a troubled expression.

“Don't look at me like that, Viktor. Drink! It's only us old men here.”

Viktor sighed and took a sip, not daring to talk. Nikolai continued, sloshing his drink around. “You remember, after the Asylum? We went to Apalapucia for one last trip, and then you left me in the alley behind my house, and we went our separate ways.”

He nodded, flinching.

Nikolai shook his head. “I was in Moscow, and it was indeed the alley behind my house, but you've misplaced me by a good hundred years, give or take a few. Thirty-six years later, and here we are.” He took another sip, and Viktor glanced at him, apology ready on his lips. Nikolai beat him to it.

“I was angry, at first. So very angry, and then I was worried, and scared, because how could I find my family again? My wife, my children? And then -- I won't bore you with the details -- I found my great-great-grandchildren, and they somehow believed me when I told them who I was, because that's what you do; leaving impressions on people, Viktor, that they remember you decades later, and I reconnected with them, and saw Yulia grow up.”

He shrugged. “Then little Yurotchka was born, and I was made grandfather, but Yulia, his mother, worries about me, so she told Yura either me or her, and Yura chose me, and chose skating.”

“I'm--”

Nikolai shook his head. “No, don't say it. What happened, happened, and I am happy with my life.”

“But your granddaughter threw you out of the family!”

“Yes, but I understand why she did it. Especially because She appeared on my doorsteps twenty years ago.” He glanced at the door to their right, and Viktor felt dread rising up within him. “The TARDIS…”

“Yes. She was dormant until a few months ago, but I guess you know that.”

Nikolai looked Viktor over. “You're afraid. Of returning to your previous lifestyle, now that you found someone you want to hold on to.”

Viktor shuddered, nodding slowly.

“I'm sorry, Viktor.”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

 Here is how things went down afterwards: Viktor and Yuuri and Yuri stayed over, Yuri showing them around Moscow in as much glee as the surly teenager could muster, and they left for Saint Petersburg on their planned date, Nikolai patting Viktor on the back with a frown.

Viktor ignored it.

Viktor ignored Yakov and Lilia, a knot forming in his stomach.

He only wanted some more time, damnit!

And this is what happened: it was two months later, when they'd gotten a call.

“Yuuri Katsuki, yes?” Viktor hadn't been aviable at the time, so Yuuri took it. “I'm Georgi Popovich - a friend of Vede's. Can you tell him to call me back? It's important.”

And then there was that.

In the end, it was unavoidable, of course. The world needed the Victor, even if Viktor didn't want to be needed anymore. Then there was the military, and Unit, and Carabosse, and Moscow. There were the Slitheen and acid, and Yuuri being oh so very brave, until Viktor couldn't hide anymore.

He knelt down in front of the shocked Yuuri, hands blocking his fiance's view. He murmured into his hair 'I'm so sorry, love', and ‘forgive me, love’ and a final “Stay here with Gosha, my sun.”

Viktor took off and ran. There was only one thing the Slitheen were here for, and only one person who could stop them.

They were three blocks away from the Plisetsky home, where the TARDIS was waiting for him.

•• ━•●•━ ••

And this is, finally, how the Slitheen invasion turned around and fled:

They were laughing mockingly at their victory over Earth and Unit's defenses, Carabosse and Yuuri standing behind the best of Unit. Yuuri was worried, and Carabosse resigned.

The TARDIS materialized in all her glory, halting both sides from attacking.

The leader of the Slitheen took a cautious step back, disbelief written all over his face, as Viktor stepped out, sonic brandished in front of him like a weapon.

There were gasps among the humans, but Viktor ignored them.

“Hello, darlings.” The Victor (really, it would be Viktor from now on and for ever, he finally _understood_ Iris) grinned, eyes hard as steel. “Did you miss me?”

He didn't let the leader talk, walking forward and ignoring the strangled “Vitya-!” from the back row.

“You will leave Earth at once, Glune Fex Fize Sharlaveer-Slam Slitheen, and take your brothers and sisters with you.”

“And why would we do that?”

“Because,” Viktor scoffed, “I am not that kind of man who shows mercy to someone who killed men in cold blood. Leave, because this planet is protected by me. Because you won't get your hands on the TARDIS, because-” he took another step forward, twirling the sonic in his hand, “- because I am the Victor, and you have already lost the second you stepped on Earth.” Viktor pocketed the sonic pen. “Leave. Now. And hope to never see me again.”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

The Universe's victor is back, was what the people would whisper.

(It's what the Daleks and Cyber Men and the Silence would growl.)

He will defend us again, is what they hoped for. He was their eternal savior, their friend; he helped those in need and those that were lonely and alone, those that had nothing more to loose and those that had everything to.

(It was whispered that he was not alone to do so, never alone, and that someone else always was by his side, their matching rings a promise to the world enough and time.)

Always helping, never demanding; his name was a sacrosanct whisper on the wind, a promise to those who needed dreams and hope.

(It was especially sweet when, in the privacy of the TARDIS, his name could be ‘Vitya’ with no expectations, only love.)

He was the opressor of the opressing, the savior of the weak; the warrior of many faces, who came if you called — the oncoming storm, the living legend. He was The Victor.

(Or, more commonly nowadays, simply Viktor. Maybe even Nikiforov, if he felt the need to it.)

Always a different face and different body, but with the same ice-blue eyes for each and every incarnation.

(And the same ring around his finger, his neck.)

He was a Time Lord.

(And he wasn't so alone anymore.)

 

....

 

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..

 

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..

 

...

 

....

 

Yuuri blinked, shocked; he glanced around the inside of the phone booth (time machine) before he backtracked and walked around it on the outside.

“This is impossible.”

Viktor grinned. “Say it, love.”

Yuuri shot him a glare. He was still mildly annoyed that Viktor hadn't told him anything about -- well, about everything, but he wasn't complaining anymore.

(God knows he did, because it had been scary and incredible at the beginning, but Yuuri knew his fiance, he knew Viktor.)

Scared, worried Viktor who was afraid that Yuuri would leave him as soon as he found out the truth that his Vitya wasn't human.

Yuuri could understand why Viktor never told him, and why he's kept quiet even though it had started getting progressively worse the more time passed, since the first call from this mysterious ‘family member.’

  
Yuuri still fiercely loved him; would still stand up to some green alien blob thingy (and how was it that barely three hours ago, Viktor, his Vitya, singlehandedly made a whole extraterrestrial race flee at the mention of his name?).

Would still stay by his side and never leave him, as Yuuri'd told Viktor, once the security personnel left him room to breathe, after the Slitheen tucked their tails and ran.

And how hopeful Viktor had looked, the life and love returning to his eyes after Yuuri had said those words back to him to the nth time.

Yuuri glanced around the console room again, amusement entering his own features. “…it's bigger on the inside.”

Viktor beamed. “Yes! I love it when people mention it!”

Yuuri oh, so couldn't understand why. Really. Not at all.

He laughed and walked over to Viktor (still his Vitya, always his Vitya), letting his body sag against his. Viktor cought him.

“…I'm still sorry, my Yuuri.” Viktor murmured into his ear. “I was afraid that… I was afraid.”

“I'm still here, Vitya.”

“Yes.” His voice wavered and sounded dangerously close to a choked-back sob, so Yuuri wound his arms around Viktor's back and clung. They stayed that way, the console humming softly in the background in blue and pink hues, before Yuuri spoke again, amused and flat. “Aliens, huh.”

Viktor chuckled, so Yuuri continued in the same tone. “It makes me question my knowledge of history. Who is extraterrestrial? Was Beethoven really an alien spy? Is Mars populated by little green men?”

Viktor outright laughed, shoving Yuuri out of his embrace to clutch his stomach. It was a carefree laugh, and childish and happy, and Yuuri smiled softly to himself as he waited for Viktor to calm down.

“History… history is full of your friendly neighborhood Time Lord fixing things.” Viktor was grinning crookedly, hands on his hips and chest puffed out exaggeratedly. Adding flair to his voice and exaggerating his gestures, and Yuuri had to bite back a laugh. “I can't speak for more than a handful of people, and I haven't met Beethoven yet, so I can't say. And that's racist, Yuu~ri.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Yuuri smiled. “I don't wan't to be insensitive.”

His interest was piqued, though. “Who did you meet, then? Alien or not.”

“Weeell,” Viktor turned to look at the center of the console, smile still firmly in place and endearingly heart-shaped. “I didn't meet Beethoven, but good old Da Vinci and Tchaikowski were …pleasant fellows.”

Yuuri blinked. “What.”

Viktor's smile changed. “And Oscar Wilde - well. He certainly was something.”

Yuuri needed a second, but after he processed the words — “Wait, do you - no way!”

Viktor's grin was wolfish, and Yuuri a shiver ran down Yuuri's spine. “I could introduce you.”

The Japanese skater shook his head, amazement plainly written onto his face. “And— alien-wise?”

“Ah.” Viktor blinked. “I couls list you some species, but I don't think that would mean anything to you, love.”

“Oh, right.” He hadn't thought about it that way.

“But I do know of at least one alien who you know as well.”

“Really? Who?”

A smile tugged at Viktor's lips. “Jean-Jaques' fiance, Isabella. She's a Racnosse, which is basically an alien spider. Which reminds me— I have to send her the world's biggest thank-you bouquet.”

“JJ's — a spider.”

“Yes!” Viktor was beaming again, something mischievous entering his eyes. “And if we're already talking about that: Gosha is the same species as me, and Chris is from some odd centuries in the future where there's no such silly thing as a ‘right’ or ‘correct’ sexuality.”

“What.”

“And he's kind of immortal and part of another Unit-like defense force called Torchwood.”

“What-”

“And I used to travel with Yura's grandfather and with Yakov and Lilia when they were younger,”

“Wh--”

“—and with a purple space-dog called Makka, and I think I'll be travelling with a young Minako in the future, because I have to keep the timeline correct, and she mentioned Tallulah with three ‘l’s and- Yuuri?”

“ _Christophe Giacometti is an immortal human from the future?!? Vitya!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> other things that I've thougth about: Phichit will become a on-off companion and later join Unit as an agent and cooperate with Torchwood/Chris  
> Mila is happily living with Sara and Mickey in lieu of the Paternoster Gang, and Emil crashes in their time period, much to Sara's delight  
> They obviously take dog!Makka with them  
> they go and visit Barcelona, and the noseless dogs love them  
> Viktor is scared to regenerate, so he pulls off a Ten/meta-crisis in his own body and refuses to change his appearance. the time lords were not amused.  
> Yuuri gets tossed around Viktor's timestream a la Clara and later has the same thing happening to him as Ashildr/Lady Me because I cannot separate them, okay??? And they'll be a time-travelling and world-saving powercouple that Gallifrey is annoyed about but cannot do a thing to  
> Isabella gets her bouquet  
> they have an interstellar marriage everybody attends, on Barcelona the planet


End file.
